Gentle
by rina riku
Summary: Albus Dumbledore summons a welcoming committee to go bring Harry Potter back to the wizarding world. But when they arrive, they learn some very interesting things about Mr. Potter. What are they to do now? Will be a Severitis fic, as well as eventual sla
1. Prologue

_OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGod fear pain darkness_

A click as a telephone is picked up and uneven light tones are dialed. The large man crouched over a small unconscious six year old, hears the tones, looks up to his shaky wife cowering as far as the cord will let her with the phone at her ear. With a roar of rage, he grabs the nearest item, a vase, and throws it at her. It hits the wall next to her and she drops the phone is shock. 

"Hello, you have reached the Little Whinging police department, how may I help you."

The little boy regains consciousness and once more becoming aware of the pain, screams.

5 minutes later a squad of police cars pull up in front of the house. A crowd of neighbors spill out of their houses onto Privet Drive to gawk blearily at the commotion at number 4.

2 minutes later, a gunshot is heard, as well as a woman's scream.

4 minutes after that, Vernon Dursley is taken out to a police car in handcuffs.

6 months after that Vernon Dursley dies in prison.

5 years later, an old man calls together his colleagues to welcome their savior back into the fold.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a car.

A/N. This is my first story, so it shall be written a bit sporadically. If someone is interested in becoming my beta, owl me.

On with the show.

It was a bright sunny June morning. The clouds from the previous evening had dispersed without leaving a single drop. The old castle that sat in the middle of a valley next to a lake, stood proudly as the sun burned off the last of the lingering fog hidden in the shadow of the building. The surface of the lake bulged and broke as a long tentacle shot out of the water to grab a passing bird. The old man sitting in an overstuffed red armchair watched from his window as the squid continued to swat at the flock of starlings overhead. Chuckling to himself and setting his teacup down onto the saucer on the table, he stood up, briefly twitching his suit into place, and set off at a brisk walk to a new destination.

In a large room that appeared to have no ceiling, stood a group of four people. The first, was a short, slightly plump woman with brown hair and brown eyes. She wore practical clothes, trousers and a shirt, made of a stout material, almost canvas like, to suit her occupation. Her curly hair was cropped short to her head and showed her years in the liberal streaks of gray. The second person was of an average height with sandy brown hair and amber eyes. He stood tall, although he was plainly weary as evidenced by the shadows under his eyes, and seemed frail with his thinness. He wore worn brown trousers and a white button up shirt under a tweed jacket. The third woman gave the impression of constant displeasure wit her strict bun and rigid posture. She stood tall with brown hair and hazel eyes, wearing a no nonsense floor length gray skirt and white blouse. The final and last man stood the tallest in the room and radiated dislike. With black eyes, black hair, black jeans and shirt to match his dark expression, he seemed to be a monster brought forth from the shadows. His contemptuous sneer showed just how happy he was to be standing there, waiting for their last companion. Finally, the old man with sparkling blue eyes and long white hair, strode through the doors wearing a navy blue suit. He sent the four of them a beaming grin, before holding out an old newspaper. Each grabbed hold of the paper, and at that point, the old man brought out a piece of wood and tapped the paper. All five disappeared.

In a deserted alleyway on Magnolia Crescent, the five reappeared. Smiling cheerfully at his companions, the old man took the lead and led the way onto the main street and around the corner where they were faced with a row of houses, all as identical as the posts of a picket fence. Four out of the five smiled, as their journey was nearly over, while the fifth just gave a scowl in the street's general direction. The groups smiles faded as they walked down the street to become confronted with a for sale sign hanging on the front lawn of number four, with a glaring red sold stamped over it. Four held back as the old man walked up the front drive to knock on the door, there was no response. Glancing back at them, he nodded and they split up, going in different directions to find people. The brown haired man found one first.

"Excuse me," the brown haired man asked a woman in her front garden," sorry to bother you ma'am, but could you answer a few questions for me."

The woman in question looked up at the polite stranger, shielding her eyes from the sun replied, "If I know the answer I may be able to young man." Standing so she was level with him, she gave him a scrutinizing look, before beckoning and walking up to her front porch. "Take a seat," she invited, gesturing towards a wicker loveseat. "What were you trying to find out about?"

"The house, down the street a ways, number four, can you tell me what happened to the ones who lived there?"

The woman stared at him incredulously. "You don't know what happened? It was in all the newspapers, even on the news. How could you not have heard?"

The man shifted nervously, looking at his hands. "I was out of the country on a business venture, and when I returned, everything had changed."

"Well," she started after a moment, "it's quite simple really. They moved out, bout five years ago. The house has been bought and sold almost every year. It's a bad luck house. They say its haunted."

"By whom?" the brown haired man asked tentively.

"I believe it happened about in October, about five years ago, there was a terrible commotion outside. Half the street came out to find out what all the noise was about. We came out to find the police taking Vernon Dursley out to the car in handcuffs. When we asked what happened, the police said he was being charged for murder. Later, when the news report came out, it stated that Dursley had been sentenced to death on charges of domestic violence, child abuse, child molestation, and murder. It's his own son that haunts the house, killed in a violent rage at his wife they said. His wife filed for a divorce, took her nephew and moved. That's the last we heard of him." She was silent for a moment, before she stood up and went in the house. When she came back out, she was holding the front page of a newspaper. "Here, I had a few of these saved. You can have one. Hope I have been of help, but I need to start lunch. Good bye."

The man sat on the swing, staring at the front of the newspaper, before he mechanically stood and walked back out into the street. Walking up to the tall strict woman, he silently handed her the newspaper and froze, gazing at nothing.


End file.
